Can you talk me through pancakes?
Sure. Just let me clean up the kitchen first.
A few minutes later he says,
It’s going to be a pancake competition. Jakers and Jazzer say they make the best pancakes.
Nooooo! I’ve just cleaned the kitchen. You saw how much rice she cooked for the chili. It got everywhere and the hens will be eating it for weeks. There’ll be pancakes falling off the ceiling if those two get involved. Hurry up. I’ll talk you through it, we’ll get it underway before anyone catches on. Crepes or drop scones?
So he gets out the ingredients and then has a big problem about whether he should use the mixer or just a bowl. I advise a bowl. Not worth getting the mixer out for a few pancakes. He can’t find the weighing scales, I get cross because no one ever puts things away where they belong and Jazzer hears and realizes that pancakes are in progress and comes out and Gets Involved. I am not pleased.
Immediately she decides that the mixture is far too runny and goes about thickening it up. There is a dispute about sugar. I say no, she says yes. Things are getting heated. Jakers comes in to discuss his recipe. He sees how things are going and wisely withdraws. I withdraw too. Let them get on with it.
Jazzer starts to cook the pancakes. There is a dispute between her and Bert and Ben about adding oil to the pan. Jazzer says no, Ben and Bert say yes. Jazzer wins. I have a moan because she’s using a metal spatula on my best pan. She gets tense. The first pancake is wonderful and Ben gets it. The second one burns. The third one refuses to leave the pan. They are panicking. I have to get involved.
The pancake has stuck to the pan and has to be scrubbed off. And there is batter on every surface and running down the cupboard doors. I clean up, I oil the pan and cook a pancake. It looks perfect.
Jazzer says I am a mean cow and I say when do I ever come to your house and start acting like I am Mrs Pancake Woman? Jakers bursts into hysterical laughter. Jazzer says I am a control freak. Bert wisely stays quiet. Banjo Man feigns sleep. Ben, rather charmingly, takes my side. He knows on which side his pancakes are buttered. Bert finishes cooking the pancakes because he is a first-class tosser and everybody eats pancakes with maple syrup and whipped cream. I eat some too and privately think that my pancake recipe is far better than Jazzer’s.
Jazzer gives me a hug and we decide that the whole darn thing was our husbands' fault.